Boom
by sugah66
Summary: It only takes a look, a touch, a spark, and everything explodes. Missing scene from 3x05. Don't I wish. DL. Oneshot.


**TITLE: Boom  
****AUTHOR: Sugah  
****SUMMARY: They just can't take it anymore. Hee hee. "Missing scene" from 3x05, don't I wish.  
****SPOILERS: 3x05 "Oedipus Hex"  
****PAIRING: D/L  
****RATING: M – It's full of all that good stuff. TEH MAD SEX!  
****DISCLAIMER: They are so not mine it's not even funny how not mine they are.  
****AUTHOR'S NOTE: This week's episode made me so happy that I had to write something. It is fluffy smut. It's smuffy. Hee hee. Smuffy. I love that word. SMUFFY! **

**Sorry. It's late, and Sugah is hyper.**

**Special thanks to Boleyn for the idea. She got the sexy bunnies hopping. Special thanks also go to Cyko for the beta. Her comments were encouraging, though hardly helpful. SEXY BUNNIES!**

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Boom

He jumps on a guy driving a motorcycle. The motorcycle is moving. He jumps on a guy driving a moving motorcycle. Is he trying to get himself killed? What exactly does he expect to prove? First he leaps across an alley from fire escape to fire escape, then he tackles a guy on a moving motorcycle? Does he want to give her a heart attack? Or worse yet, does he want her heart to stop, so terrified as she is that something is going to happen to him? He could've been hurt – or even worse… He could've been killed. Danny Messer isn't indestructible by any means, but he doesn't seem to have learned that little piece of information yet.

Al's helmet goes flying off and Lindsay runs to grab it, though she can't take her eyes off of Danny. Good God, he's trying to kill her. That can be the only explanation. He's punishing her for her desire to wait, for her reluctance to be in a relationship with him, by trying to kill himself. He hurls himself on the back of that motorcycle, dragging the guy down. The two of them and the cycle go skittering across the road, and for a moment Lindsay can swear her heart is in her throat. Were she not gripping Al's helmet tightly in her shaking fingers, she's quite certain she would be able to touch it.

Her breathing returns to normal as both Danny and Al get to their feet, miraculously unharmed, and she resists the urge to go off on him in front of the suspect – and in the middle of the street. But his actions are not logical. He's acting on instinct, and it's eating at her. What if he had been hurt? What then? Would she still be so certain that she couldn't be with him? What if she had lost him tonight? It's something that she doesn't want to consider, yet it's all she can seem to think about. She could've lost him without ever really having him, and that's simply too much to bear.

And even with her heart beating a mile a minute, even with her brain in overdrive, imagining just how awful that whole thing could have ended, she can't help but think that him tackling that guy was damn sexy. Damn sexy. She squeezes the helmet tighter. Such an obvious display of testosterone, and she had no idea that could be such an unbelievable fucking turn on.

He shoves Al in the back of the van and climbs in the driver's seat, suddenly noticing that she is not there. He opens the door to call out to her.

"Lindsay?" His voice contains barely veiled concern. That same concern has been hovering in his tone all day; she knows he is worried about her, worried about the uncharacteristic behavior she's been exhibiting lately. She appreciates his concern, and it makes her heart melt. She doesn't deserve to have someone so concerned for her well-being. She doesn't deserve someone as wonderful as he's been the past couple of weeks. "Are you all right?"

She makes her way back to the van, still clutching Al's helmet. She hopes she didn't contaminate any possible evidence; she's just thrilled that it was still in one piece. As tightly as she had been squeezing it, she half-expected it to shatter in her hands. "I'm fine," she says, opening her door and sliding in beside him.

The drive back to the precinct passes in near silence. Al, in the backseat, is muttering under his breath about "the damn NYPD thinking they know everything." She leans her head against the window and stares at Danny, completely ignoring the blathering idiot behind her. Danny's eyes are on the road in front of him, his knuckles clutching the steering wheel so tightly that they are turning white. She can see the tension in his body, and she isn't sure what the cause of it is. They had some initial awkwardness after her confession, but the past several days have been almost like old times. He is giving her the space that she claims to need, and she rewards him by not pulling away. They talk and joke and laugh as though nothing has happened, and after the experiment with the murder weapon, she can't remember why she's so unwilling to be with him.

He's different, this man who sits beside her. He's not the same Danny Messer she met more than a year ago – the smirking, pompous jackass who embarrassed her on her first day and refused to call her by her given name just to annoy her. This Danny is sweet, kind, and caring. He's patient, mature, and generally concerned for her welfare. He really listens to her when she speaks, and he obligingly grants her requests. She has a feeling that he would do anything she asked of him. Then again, maybe it's been the same Danny all along, and he's finally willing to let this side of him show.

She wants to wait. She really likes Danny, and she doesn't want her past to mess things up. She knows that Danny knows that. But she also knows that if something had happened to him tonight, she would have had to live with the 'what if.' She doesn't want to live with 'What if.' She doesn't want to have any regrets. She likes Danny. She knows he likes her. She also knows that he is just waiting for a signal, and then all bets are off.

Her hand moves of its own accord and rests itself lightly on Danny's thigh. His leg muscles tense under her fingers, but he keeps his eyes on the road. She slides her hand a bit higher. He turns sharply to look at her and nearly runs a red light in the process.

"Easy there, Cowboy," she says with smile, removing her hand from his leg. She pats his cheek affectionately, trying not to stroke his chin. She pulls her fingers back before they move into his hair, which is growing out. She likes it longer, but she'll never tell him this. "Don't they teach you how to drive in New York?"

He scowls at her, mumbling something in Italian under his breath. The light turns green, and the game begins again. She puts her hand back on his thigh. His whole body stiffens this time, but his eyes never leave the road. He grips the steering wheel more tightly, if that's even possible at this point. She watches to see if he'll manage to yank the wheel out of the dashboard, and when he doesn't, she moves her hand higher once more. He sucks in a sharp breath and mutters in Italian again. She gives his thigh a squeeze. He jerks the wheel sharply to the right and almost runs over a mailbox.

"Christ, man!" Al says. "Are you trying to get us all killed?"

Lindsay doesn't move her hand nor does she acknowledge where her hand is. She looks out the window, calm as can be, enjoying the feel of Danny's thigh muscles under her fingers. She resists the urge to grin and pretends to be pondering something important. As they approach the station, she removes her hand from his leg. He breathes an enormous sigh and maneuvers the van into the nearest parking spot.

She's given him the signal. She wonders if he'll act on it.

Danny drags Al out of the van, and the three of them make their way up the stairs and into the precinct. Some officers approach them, and Danny tells them to take Al to interrogation, that he'll be along in a minute. Lindsay's phone beeps softly from her hip. She flips it open and sees the text message from Hawkes – Al's bike has been brought to the lab for processing. She glances up to find that Danny is staring at her, the look in his deep blue eyes almost unreadable. She cocks her eyebrow at him.

"They brought in Al's bike," she says to him, showing him the text message as though he wouldn't believe her. "I'm going to head back to the lab and start processing." She nods in the general direction that the officers have taken Al. "You think you can handle him all by yourself?"

He stares at her. "I'll manage," he says, and something in his tone makes her pause. She can't describe it, but something has shifted. Her heart begins to pound. "I'm a big boy, Monroe."

She rolls her eyes at the use of her last name. She can't believe that she actually misses him calling her 'Montana.' She won't admit this, of course; she refuses to give him the satisfaction. She knows he is a big boy, though his actions earlier might say otherwise. "I hadn't noticed, Messer," she says. She tries to make it sound nonchalant, but she can't hide the waver as she says his last name. She can't cover up the fact that her fingers are shaking.

His eyes are on her hands, which she brings to cover her face in the hopes of hiding the trembles. He takes a step forward, and she is suddenly overpowered by that incredibly intoxicating scent that is uniquely him. "You're shaking," he says.

She shakes her head. "You're crazy," she says.

"Lindsay, you're shaking. I can see it."

She laughs nervously. He doesn't realize that she wasn't denying it. "I didn't mean it like that," she says. "I mean you're crazy, you crazy ass."

He furrows his brow, and is it wrong to think that he looks adorable at that moment? "Excuse me?"

She smacks him on the arm. "You could've been killed!" She keeps her voice down, so that the others do not overhear them. "You crazy-ass son of a bitch, what the fuck were you thinking?"

His eyes widen, and she tries to remember if she's ever been so vulgar in front of him before. She guesses probably not, if the shock on his face is any indication. "Um… Okay."

She smacks him again. "Jumping on the back of a moving motorcycle? What if something had happened to you?"

He cocks his head to the side. "But nothing did happen."

She groans as loudly as she can and rolls her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "You're an idiot. I have to go to the lab."

She turns and weaves her way through the desks, slowly making her way back to the van. Suddenly, he is behind her, and his hand is on her arm. Her reaction is nearly instantaneous. It's like an explosion goes off in her brain.

"Lindsay," he says, and he grips her wrist to turn her around. But she beats him to it, whirling to face him, placing her hand at the back of his head, and pulling him to her in one swift motion. Before she can breathe, she is kissing him, right in the middle of the goddamned police station.

He breaks the kiss, much to her surprise and dismay, and gives her a searching look. What he's looking for, she isn't quite certain, but he must find it, because his eyes darken to a smoldering cobalt, and he quickly glances around the room. He grips her wrist firmly and darts off down the hallway. She has no choice but to follow him, as if she could tear herself away even if he didn't have a death grip on her arm. She doesn't know where they're going, but she doesn't particularly care.

They end up at a supply closet. Danny looks around the deserted halls before opening the door and shoving her in. He follows her a moment later, and she hears the click as he locks the door behind them. She stretches past him to grope for the light switch, but he catches her hand and yanks her to him. She is flush against his chest, and he dips his head to capture her lips once more.

She always knew that kissing Danny would be amazing, but the fantasies do not live up to the reality. She's dizzy and breathless and lightheaded. Kissing him is a roller coaster, and all she wants to do is get back on. She brings her hands to his face, cupping his chin lightly, relishing in the feel of his stubble under her fingertips. His hands are resting at the small of her back, but they slowly migrate south until he is gripping her ass hard enough to bruise. He pulls her hips against his, and she can very clearly feel his arousal through his jeans.

Why the fuck did she want to wait again? She finds she can't remember.

He strokes his tongue out to touch hers, and she responds with a whimper and a thorough exploration of her own. She wants to leave no part of his mouth untouched, to know him as intimately as she possibly can, this man who has wiggled her way into her heart and her brain, this man who has entrenched himself into her soul. She doesn't believe in soul mates, but she knows that he touches her in a way no other man ever has, and she's not just talking about the way his knuckles are kneading her ass.

She can't stand it any longer. She has no idea why she didn't want to be with this man. She doesn't want to remember, because this feels too right, too perfect. Why did she think she could deal with her demons alone? She much rather prefers that he be there to battle back the shadows – not for her, but with her. She attacks the buttons on his shirt; she hates his button-down, slightly more professional look. She longs for the damn near skintight polo shirts he's been wearing recently. The Oxford shirts cover too much, and are too difficult to remove. It takes more concentration than she has at the moment. She growls against his lips and finally gives both sides a sharp pull, ripping the shirt.

His chuckle reverberates through his chest; she can feel it as she struggles to push the ruined shirt off his shoulders. He shrugs it off, one arm at a time. "A little overenthusiastic there, aren't we?"

She silences him with another kiss, which he eagerly returns. She fingers the hem of his tank top and slides it quickly up his chest. They break apart briefly so that she can remove it and toss it aside, but fuse their lips together once the offending garment is on the floor. His hands slip under her shirt and slide up her back to her bra, which he expertly unclasps in a matter of seconds. She is hardly surprised. She raises her arms so that he can remove her shirt, which he deposits on top of his own. He then gently slides the straps of her bra down her arms until that, too, falls to the floor. Then he sweeps one arm behind her to draw her into an embrace. Her breasts are pressed against his chest, and she gasps before she can stop herself.

She's glad he can't see her, as she is surely a furious shade of red by now.

He maneuvers them through the cramped closet until her back is against the wall. She wishes she had thought to wear a skirt today; it would make this part so much easier. But Danny doesn't seem to have any trouble, as he unbuttons her pants with a simple flick of the wrist. She isn't quite as skilled at unbuttoning his jeans, and she silently curses whoever invented the button fly. She nearly forgets what she is doing as his slips her pants down over her hips. She steps out of them automatically, and his hands are on her ass again, as he effortlessly lifts her and presses her harder into the wall.

She continues to struggle with his jeans as his lips trail heat along her collarbone, stopping at the juncture where her shoulder meets her neck, where he sucks lightly on the skin. She knows he is going to leave a mark, and she doesn't care. She wants everyone to know that she belongs to him, that she has always belonged to him, since that day at the zoo. He runs his tongue down the valley between her breasts, then lightly takes a nipple in his teeth. She hisses in pleasure and arches her back, bringing her hips into contact with his. They both moan, though Danny's is muffled, as his head is buried in her chest.

She finally manages to unbutton his jeans, using her toes to push them and his boxer-briefs down his legs as far as she can get them. She wishes she could see him, but is again glad that he can't see her. He slips his thumb underneath the elastic of her panties and presses it against her. She inhales sharply as her mouth drops open and her head lolls back. He moves the crotch of her underwear aside and slowly dips one finger inside of her.

She shakes her head, even though he can't see her, and pulls him to her for another kiss. She probes his mouth with her tongue, moving her lips slowly over his. It slow and deep and so erotic that were she standing, her legs would give out beneath her. She tangles her fingers in the hairs and the base of his skull and yanks his head away from hers.

"No," she says, her words coming out in pants and gasps. "I need you."

He leans forward until their foreheads are touching, and she can just barely make out the outline of his face in the lack of light. He presses a light kiss to her lips; the gesture is so tender that it makes her heart ache. It's that single, solitary gesture that convinces her that she is doing the right thing. The journey may not always be easy, but damn if she's going to make it without him by her side. "Are you sure?"

She nods, not trusting her voice, and she feels his fingers push aside the elastic of her panties before he drives into her. She gives an involuntary shriek at the way he fills her, stretches her, and he stills, his forehead still touch hers.

"You okay?" he asks, and the gentleness in his tone nearly brings her to tears. She wants to know what she did to deserve a man this wonderful.

She nods again, catching his bottom lip with her teeth and sucking lightly. He moans and his knees buckle, and she takes great pride in knowing that it's her that's doing this to him. "Never been better," she says, and she runs her tongue along the shell of his ear before taking the lobe in her mouth.

He needs no further encouragement, pulling out almost completely before pushing into her again. She tightens her legs around his waist and matches him thrust for thrust, biting her lip to keep from moaning. They soon reach a rhythm, as though they had been doing this for years and not for the first time tonight. His head drops to the crook of her shoulder as he fills her again and again, and she can feel the pressure building in her belly. She knows it won't take much longer, not when she's waited so long already.

Her orgasm is explosive, and she sinks her teeth into his shoulder so that she won't cry out and give them away. He follows her a moment later, mumbling against her throat.

"Fuck, Lindsay," Danny says, his voice hoarse and an octave lower than she's used to. He moves to separate them, to lower her back to the floor, but she locks her ankles at the small of his back and keeps him where he is. He looks at her, and she can't see the look on his face but she can see his eyes, burning brightly in the blackness. "What made you change your mind?"

She shrugs and runs her fingers through his hair, the presses a light kiss to his collarbone, just above his rapidly beating heart. She looks up at him, wishing for the first time that he could see the smile on her face. "You did."


End file.
